Corn Fed
by justgiver
Summary: What if they didn't get to ride off into the sunset after S1Ep8. How high a price were they willing to pay for a little piece of grey fabric?
1. Chapter 1

It was time to get moving. Dalton's brain was clear on that fact, but try telling his body it at this exact moment. Lying where he had dropped for cover, he was finding the grass field absurdly comfortable as the relief of finding his team hidden in the kill box settled over him. The adrenaline that had propelled him as he fled from the Russian squad was fading and he was beginning to feel the last couple tumbles he took adding new aches and pains on top of his already banged up ribs.

McG and Preach hauled him up to a sitting position reigniting the sharp pains in his side and he tried unsuccessfully to hold back a groan. "Here, let me take a look at those before we set off" McG offered. He shook his head, the last thing he wanted right now was McGuire poking and prodding his ribs and besides they should get going. He was fairly confident that his team had taken out all those following him but there could still be some stragglers or other units entering the area that they needed to avoid. He was done with Spetzsnaz encounters for the day, thank you very much. "You want something for the pain?" McG offered, probably knowing the answer before he asked. He didn't seem surprised when Adam shook his head. "Alright, but it's gonna suck riding a horse with a busted up set of ribs" the medic added knowingly. Dalton snorted, always appreciating McGs way of telling it like it is. He also didn't find it at all hard to believe that McG was speaking from experience based on some of the stories McG had shared on their way in.

His amusement ended quickly as they pulled him all the way to his feet and his entire chest constricted in pain. He figured there were probably only 2-3 broken ribs from the couple good knee strikes the Russian had gotten in but at the moment it all blended together across his entire chest threatening to buckle his knees. "Sure you don't want to reconsider?" Preach asked, keeping a steadying hand under Daltons' arm until he was sure the man would stay upright. Dalton caught the slightly amused glances shared between his communications officer and medic. They appeared to be appreciating this moment after everything had come together and their leader was back and being predictively stubborn. It would have been hard on them hearing him under heavy contact and being unable to assist as they followed through on their part of the plan. Seeing them rise as one from the tall grass, he had never been more appreciative of being able to count them as his team. He wrapped his arm tightly across his chest, hoping to take some of the pressure off. "Your concern is touching" he said with as much dignity and sarcasm as he could muster while not two seconds ago being held upright. "All right let's move out".

Dalton was usually proud of his team's tight noise discipline. How silently they could move through all sorts of terrain and with all different types of equipment, able to hear the faintest abnormal sound from miles away. It had saved them on more than one mission, including earlier on this one. Right now though he was cursing it. The dead silence in the quiet forest was the perfect backdrop to amplify his ragged breathing as they hiked through the woods back to the spot they had left the horses. He hoped it was just abnormally loud to his own ears, but judging by the sympathetic glances he kept catching thrown his way, that was probably wishful thinking. He tried to focus on taking slow deep breaths but his ribs were quick to quash that plan triggering a coughing fit that doubled him over and made his eyes water. Shallow quick breaths it was then. He didn't recall being this out of breath since joining the army and showing up for bootcamp mistakenly thinking he was strong and fit. Running maneuvers in the hills with weight vests in the desert heat had humbled him quickly.

He silently celebrated when Amir held up the sign to hold, scolding himself for being grateful for the break when they should have been moving. Amir pulled out his canteen, taking his time opening it before taking a long slow pull. He offered it to Dalton who shook his head. Realistically he probably should have given the former spy heck- his team did not stop for water breaks. Come to think of it the amount of stops they had taken in the course of this short 2 mile ruck was something he would regularly never have allowed. Jaz for some reason needed to stop to rearrange her pack claiming something was digging into her back. Later on McGuire had apparently had forgotten how to tie a damn shoe and had fiddled with his boot for a good couple minutes before they continued on. Yes, he probably should say something but he was busy sucking in air trying to slow his rapid breathing and pounding heart. He could discuss the appropriate reasons for stopping during a mission with his team when they debriefed back at their base

They continued on and things seemed to go downhill from there. Well technically they went uphill. The team started a gradual ascent coming back around the mountain pass. His ribs amped up their protest sending sharp lancing pains with each step he took. But the pain wasn't the problem. He had learned a long time ago in this business to make peace with pain, to accept it for what it was and what it meant, and then get the job done regardless if it. No, it was the amount of effort he was having to expend to catch his breath that was quickly sapping his reserves. Every breath took concerted effort to try and bring in what never felt like enough air. His lungs burned, straining against his tight chest to pull in enough oxygen to keep up with the demands of his body. His feet felt heavy and clumsy and it was starting to take serious concentration to place one foot in front of the other and not trip on the uneven terrain. His tired brain couldn't seem to keep up with even these two simple tasks anymore. Breathe and walk, just breathe and walk. He stubbornly pushed on. He would not be the reason his team spent even one more minute than necessary near enemy territory. Breathe and walk… Breathe and walk.

They finally approached the clearing and found the horses waiting for them, heads down contentedly munching on whatever greenery was in their reach. Surprisingly being stationary didn't bring the relief he was hoping for. He was finding it hard to follow what was going on around him. He should be doing something right now. Others were doing something. Packing things, unhooking horses. But he couldn't figure out what he should be doing. He felt naked without his pack and long gun that Preach had insisted on carrying . He couldn't remember which horse was his at the moment either. His normally well oiled team bustled around him slowly preparing to mount up. He wondered what was taking so long anxious to keep moving, to get this over with. It was almost as if, as if they were stalling on purpose. He found this thought abnormally funny, laughing to himself at his sudden insight and how long it had taken him to figure it out.

Jaz called his name, distracting him from his introspection. It was apparently not for the first time she had said his name either judging by the tone of her voice. He turned to his left to see what she wanted but his vision kept on going refusing to focus on his female team member and causing his balance to waver as the world spun and blurred. He blinked hoping to cease the movement and find some stability. When that failed he settled for leaning nonchalantly against a nearby tree finally managing to steady himself . He took the bar and water that Jaz was offering him and forced a smile to try and ease the concern in her gaze. She continued to watch him suspiciously. "Are you gunning for McG's job?" he joked, hoping to deflect her attention. No luck, she laughed but her keen sniper eyes were still trained on him waiting for him to do more than hold the food. He had never felt less like eating and silently debated whether it was more effort to argue or just to eat it. Looking around at the rest of the gazes that were definitely not watching their interaction he grimaced. He hoped he at least managed to express an annoyingly fake smile as he fiddled with the bar wrapper and took a begrudging bite.

"Ok, let's get this show on the road" he called out, ready to head out and get some of the attention off his food consumption or lack thereof. He pushed off the tree determined to grab a horse, any horse and continue this hellish return trip. His vision spun again and this time he couldn't save it. He was surprised to see the ground rushing up towards him at the angle it was. His last not-so-rational thought was that it was weird the ground was so vertical here.


	2. Chapter 2

McG finished re-arranging his gear. He unhooked his horse and Top's horse looping the reins over their heads readying them to mount. He glanced over to check on where Dalton had gotten too, frowning again at what he saw. He had ignored the wheezing breaths as they trekked out to this point. Wrapping the ribs would have taken time and the benefits were so minimal it wasn't worth the extra delay spent in the hotbox. He had halfheartedly offered Top some morphine and unsurprisingly been shot down. It was a last resort and all of them likely would have done the same never wanting to be less than full capacity in a dangerous situation. So they had set off and to no one's surprise Dalton had soldiered through what was probably a miserable march.

Jaz's laugh caught his attention as she tried to get Top to eat something. He appreciated her efforts. Out of all of them she probably had the best chance of getting him to do something he likely didn't want to do. He focused again on Top, his sense of unease growing as his trained eyes caught the sheen of sweat on Dalton's face and the shakiness of his hand when he reached for the bar. It was tough to tell under the camo paint but the man's complexion was a little too pale for his liking and he suspected his closeness with the tree was not born out of a desire to commune with nature. Resolving to do a more thorough exam and not to take no for an answer this time, he was just reaching for his kit when Top called to get moving. He rolled his eyes at the timing, grabbed his medical supplies anyways and turned just in time to watch Dalton's legs buckle, sending the man down awkwardly to the ground where he didn't move again.

He swore as panicked eyes turned towards him expectantly. McG's long legs carried him to the fallen man's side in two strides, hands automatically reaching for a pulse. Too weak. Too thready. He quickly ran his hands down over the man's arms and legs checking for any dampness that might indicate a hidden wound. Finding nothing his mind was quickly drawing conclusions about what was to blame for their leader's current condition.

"Jaz elevate his legs" he grit out struggling to undo the straps on the non-responsive man's vest.

Finally succeeding in removing the plates he lifted Top's shirt and another four letter word left his lips seeing the vivid colours of deep bruising. He faintly heard the others muttering, equally dismayed by the sight. He palpitated, fingers searching for confirmation of his suspicion. He felt Adam move under his touch unconsciously shying away from the pain the his exam was causing . McG ghosted over a few more of the bruises trying to get a sense of how many broken bones they were looking at and more worryingly what else was going wrong below them. He bit his lip, hesitating before pushing experimentally on a particularly colourful part of Dalton's stomach. Meeting more resistance than he should have he grimaced, inadvertently mirroring Top's reaction as the man's eyes fluttered open and hands weakly tried to shove away the new source of discomfort. His eyes blinked accusatorily at the medic as they seemed to gain a bit more focus and clarity with each heavy blink.

"No sleeping on the job man he joked" in what he hoped passed for a light manner. He received a delayed half smirk for his trouble but Adam's eyes were starting to close again. "No - stay awake Top... Thought you said these were just a few broken ribs?"

"Something like that" Top murmured eyes now firmly shut.

McG dug through his pack extricating an IV bag of fluids and his stethoscope. He zoned out as he listened to Adam's breathing. Anyone with ears could tell it was too strained but with the device he could hear the extent of the restricted lung function. Punctured lung? Fluid buildup? Internal Bleeding? All these scenarios ran through his mind. Without some machinery he couldn't confirm any of them or effectively treat them for that matter so he settled for something he could do starting an IV and sticking the bag under Dalton's head. He also fished out an emergency blanket from his supplies and covered the man with it.

McG turned to Jaz "Try to keep him awake and see if he can drink some fluids. I'll be right back."

He picked up the piece of drone skin that he had found and discarded during his exam. Of course it was important technology that was imperative to national security, but right now it just looked like a piece of grey garbage that they had paid too high a price for. He pushed aside these morose thoughts and stood, turning his back on the pair to go see what the plan was.


	3. Chapter 3

Preach was standing across the clearing watching McG and Jaz's efforts when Amir returned from doing a quick sweep of the area to make sure they were still in the clear. He impassively observed the smaller man shift his weight from leg to leg, subtle movements betraying his unease with the situation. Amir's eyes were glued to Dalton's unmoving form and without looking away he asked "shouldn't we be doing something? Do they need help?"

"They have it under control. Too many hands just get in the way", Preach responded calmly.

He heard Amir mutter something under his breath that he couldn't catch the exact wording of. But he understood enough to get the general jist. Amir was agreeing with McG's usual complaints about Preach's deliberate way of wording things

Unperturbed, Preach turned back to watching Jaz lift Top's legs up onto a pack. As serene as his words were his mind was busy doing the math and not liking the summation. He could see Top was now conscious again but the fact that he was not fighting their ministrations, attempting to get on his feet and get the team moving spoke volumes about the severity of whatever was ailing him. He had worked with Dalton longer than most of the team combined and had seen him take all sorts of injuries in the course of their missions. Top's crazy plans often put him in harm's way. That was the way he designed them preferring to risk himself rather than his team. It was what made him such a valued leader and afforded him absolute loyalty from his team. The man also had a pain tolerance that rivaled anyone Preach had worked with. He could push through just about anything to get the job done and get his team into the clear. No, if he was down this long things were bad and about to get complicated especially since they were taking this one "old school" and couldn't consult with the DIA for a quick fix.

He sighed softly, also fighting the same urges as Amir to go over and check on the situation and see if he could help, but he knew better. Dalton would not thank him for hovering. Quite the opposite, in fact. Top would tear a strip off him if he caught him with his attention on his friend rather than on protecting the team and the mission. No, the best thing he could do was to carry on in his stead and keep the ship pointed in the right direction. Unfortunately he feared things were not going to be smooth sailing from here on out.

As if on cue he saw McG rise and step away from Dalton and Jaz heading their way. Preach took the drone skin that McG held out to him and raised an eyebrow expectantly.

"How bad?" Amir went the more direct route, impatient for answers.

"Not good" McG admitted, frowning at the pair. "Adrenaline faded and shock set in. Turns out a "broken rib or two" is more like half a chest with some likely internal bleeding going on below. Can't tell the extent out here but I can tell his breathing is compromised which is probably our biggest worry right now."

Preach considered the information - it was about what he had expected. But the bigger question was how to move forward.

"What about moving him?" He posed the question already anticipating the answer.

McG didn't disappoint - emphatically shaking his head.

"No, we shouldn't, movement will just accelerate the bleeding, make things worse. Best thing we can do for him is keep him still and warm and continue pushing fluids. Actually ideally I could give him some blood but just Top's luck he's the odd man out and none of us are matches. We will have to get them to get a medical exfil to our location."

Amir nodded -jumping on board with that plan. "We can use the sat phones to contact control and see what their ETA is to get a chopper here. It will be dark soon they can get in unseen."

"No."

Preach's quiet but firm response caught them up short and had the two men staring at him with disbelief. McG clearly caught on to where he was going with this quicker, his eyes narrowing as frustration and resignation fleeted across his face.

Amir on the other had, practically gaped at Preach. It would have been comical if not for the circumstances. The man's face was normally so hard to read. He rarely betrayed anything and could easily hide his intentions and emotions while on a mission. Just on the way in he had suckered them hook, line, and sinker with a convincing fake story about his uncle and horses.

"We are still too close to the Chinese border. You heard Top earlier, they intercepted his Sat phone and had a team out there quicker than we could rendezvous back to the hot box. They will have no problem crossing a few miles into Mongolia to come get us, just as we had no problem going a mile into their territory. We didn't go through all of this just to get captured and lose the tech."

His explanation, his willingness to risk their leader's health, seemed to have momentarily shocked Amir into silence.

McGs eyes met his, fear reading loud and clear in his expressive eyes as well. But the medic's voice remained calm and clinical as if he was reporting the weather.

"Just to be clear Preach, moving him now - will worsen his condition and will speed up his decline. He may not make it back to civilization before needing more intervention than I can do with what I got"

Amir swore in a language Preach didn't recognize. He started and stopped a sentence a few times seemingly unable to find the right words to voice his frustration. He finally seemed to settle for silence, shaking his head in disbelief.

Jaz too had clearly heard the the medic's blunt assessment as she visibly flinched, understandably not ready to conceptualize losing another teammate. He gave her credit though for staying absorbed in what she had been asked to do rather than coming to join the debate.

Preach finally met McG's' gaze and nodded, accepting the harsh truths and understanding the medic's role to advocate what was best for his patient. They all had their roles to play on this team. McG carried a heavy responsibility being the one called on to fix things when one of them was in peril. He had not always been able to save the day and it wore heavily on him, making him more determined not to lose another family member. Preach would love to agree with him. Love to send up the SOS to the DIA consequences be damned. But he too had a role to fill right now. With Dalton down he was in charge of the team and the mission. He and Dalton formed a formidable team and he had been content to work under the man despite the numerous opportunities to lead that had come his way. Some people chased position and prestige but he had found his family and was just fine where he was, doing the work he was doing. He relished being the team's glue guy. The one that soothed tensions and mentored when needed. His driving purpose was focused on this team and it's success not on where this team could take him.

He sighed again, his lack of ambition for leadership didn't mean he wasn't capable of assuming it when necessary. No, today he had to make the unpopular decision. Today, he had to be the bad guy. That was his role in this moment and he was gonna trust his old friend to survive despite it so that he could happily hand that mantle back over as soon as possible.

He cleared his throat, catching the attention of the team. He walked a few steps closer to Dalton and was gratified to see open eyes tracking his movements. Despite knowing beyond a doubt it was the right decision he felt he owed it to the man to tell him directly.

"We are going to mount up and continue on. We have about 8 miles to cover before we are back in safe communications range. McG do what you need to do to make Dalton comfortable for the ride."

Dalton was silent for a short second, his face unreadable. When he spoke it was with strength and conviction that belied his current condition.

"You heard the man, get me up."

He met Preach's gaze with a weary smile, tired from just that small show of support. He gave a subtle nod of approval shared just between the two of them before Jaz stepped in between effectively blocking Preach's view as she prepared to help get the man upright.

It had gone better than Preach had expected if he was honest with himself. McG's happy drugs had made it possible to get Top up on the horse and the medic jumped up behind him to ensure he stayed on it. Adam had predictably suffered in silence with only a few quiet groans as they levered him up and as the horse started moving. They had taken a slow pace not wanting to trot and jar him any more than needed. Top had ridden with his head down seemingly in his own world, but the tension in his body told volumes of how uncomfortable the ride was for him.

The team moved forward in collective silence, alert eyes scanning the distance hoping to see some landmarks that meant they were getting closer to their target. The miles blurred together as as they crossed the open Mongolian fields putting valuable distance between themselves and the Chinese border. They were about 5 miles in by Preach's calculations when he started to feel a bit more hopeful that things weren't as bad as they had seemed.

By mile 6 he would have laughed at his own naivety if the situation wasn't so dire. They had all been startled out of their thoughts by Top sitting bolt upright. His eyes suddenly alert and panicked straining to get the words out…

"can't... breathe".

"Preach, Amir help me get him down...Jaz grab a blanket" McG began rapid fire orders.

He worked with Amir to lower the man down from the horse but they struggled to hold him as Dalton jerked and twisted in their grasp. They got him down on the blanket, and watched with horror as he coughed and strained, eyes wild with fear, mouth gasping for air unsuccessfully like a fish out of water. Normally calm no matter the circumstance, seeing their leader like this was a new territory none of them was comfortable in. Preach tried to settle him, promising him it would be OK, that McG was going to fix it, that they were going to take care of him. But his platitudes felt hollow, especially coming from him at this moment where the consequences of his decision were so apparent, and anyways Dalton seemed beyond hearing them .

"McG do something" Amir spat out desperately.

Mcg was frantically digging through his pack, "I'm trying, gimmie a minute. Here, Jaz give him more morphine"

She looked doubtfully at the two doses of morphine he had given her, knowing they had already given him one dose less than an hour before.

"Are you sure…."

"McG cut her off before she could finish.

"I'm about to cut him open in the middle of a fucking field and stick a tube in him. Yah, I'm sure."

Eyes widening, she obediently stuck Dalton with the two pens of morphine.

McG pulled his knife out and poured alcohol on it, he dropped the knife, swore, picked it up and re sterilized it. The medic closed his eyes, steeling himself before he reopened them and nodded with determination. He efficiently cut through Adam's shirt and began counting down his ribs feeling for the right spot. Clinically detached and engrossed in his actions he cut into the skin without any hesitation. Being a combat medic meant providing emergency aid in the shittiest of circumstances. McG did what he was trained to do, pushing aside his own feelings, ignoring the palpable panic around him, ignoring the blood, and ignoring the way Top writhed in pain before his eyes rolled back and he went mercifully limp. He inserted the tube, reaching for his stethoscope and listening intently. Finally after a long silent minute where they all seemed to hold their breath collectively, he nodded and sat back. The medic looked forlornly at his blood covered hands for a second before wiping them on his pants with apparent disgust. Preach reached out and put a hand on his shoulder, leaving it for a second before stepping away to regroup.

"Ok. There's no way we can put him back up on a horse at this point. Amir we shouldn't be too far away, maybe 2 clicks. Get riding until you are back near the village. Once you are in view…" He paused and repeated, wanting the directive to be clear. "Once you are _in view_ , make contact, update command and get us an exfil plan that involves a stop at the nearest emergency treatment center they can get access to. We will follow behind you on foot and should be about an hour back if all goes well."

Amir gave a short nod, accepting the bag with their dismantled communication devices and stowing it. He hurried to his horse's side and mounted with ease, uncertain horsemanship forgotten in his haste to help his teammate. He rode off, quickly covering ground and getting smaller and smaller across the flat landscape before he finally disappeared from their sight.


	4. Chapter 4

Amir would never admit it out loud but he was glad for the distance he was putting between himself and the team right now. He might rather it be on a motorcycle or in a nice car, but he would take on horseback if it gave him the means to escape for a bit and clear his head. He needed to try and recover some rationality.

He was an intelligence operative, dammit. Trained to be calm, neutral, impassive, objective...none of which he was feeling right now. He didn't do heated outbursts, he could separate his emotions from missions and stay objective. And yet, there he had stood practically having a tantrum when Preach made his decisions. He didn't understand what had happened to him, why he was so compromised by this mission.

It wasn't the old school-ness of the mission. The rest of the team may have been apprehensive about unplugging and going without communications, but for him that was normal. He honestly preferred going into a situation without extra voices in his head. Able to stay completely focused and in the moment rather than having to split his attention. Jaz had been skeptical last mission when he insisted on resuming his undercover work without a wire. He hoped that maybe after seeing him navigate through the threat in Paris she might now understand it a bit better. He already had to split his focus in two, adopting the mannerisms of his undercover persona while maintaining a hold on the mission priority. Add in extra voices in your ear and it became a party. It only took one extra long pause or reaction to a voice only he could hear, and he would have been dead long before the team could have gotten to him.

Was it the purpose of the mission? The fact that they were doing all this for some technology allowing them to get intelligence about future drone travel. He knew the other team members were struggling a bit with the potential cost of that small piece of grey fabric. Weighing the benefits of the swatch with the fact that they may lose their leader over it. But as he considered this, it still didn't explain his outbursts. Everything he had done previous to joining this team had been in pursuit of information. He had risked his life for intelligence that may or may not have been actionable and may or may not have paid off down the road. He had played people, betrayed people, even killed people all to get a scrap of information that might prove useless in the end. He, better than anyone, knew the value of good Intel in their ever evolving political and military climate and understood that sometimes it unfortunately was worth more than a life.

His confused thoughts had carried him far from the team and looking back the direction he came from he couldn't see them anymore. His sense of unease increased and in a flash of clarity he found the insight he had been searching for. It wasn't the mission at all, it was the team. The potential consequences to his team and his leader that was what was making it hard for him to stay rational about this mission. The former spy was used to being the lone man in a situation. Fully immersed in whatever world he was infiltrating. Surfacing only to make periodic contact with his handler. But now he had become part of a close knit team, and apparently had learned to rely on them more than he realized over the last few months.

He had initially found it to be a hard adjustment. They were just always around. Whether on or off the mission they spent an inordinate amount of time together. It was truly like joining a second family, with annoying siblings and parental figures all included. And it had not been without its bumps. Jaz, for example had been a puzzle to solve, unwelcoming and unwilling to accept his presence at first. It had been Dalton's insight that had helped him understand and build bridges with the sniper. He had come to appreciate their constant presence on missions and find his niche on the team. It was satisfying that they now counted on him to watch their backs and he found a new freedom in his work being able to trust that someone was always watching his.

So when he had argued with Preach it hadn't been a rational analysis about the plan itself or the value of the drone skin. It had been the fear. The fear of losing one of his teammates, of losing another family member. Dalton in particular had selected him for this team and had stood by him during the rocky first few missions helping him find his place. While others may have doubted his skills, his motives, his loyalty, Top had trusted him unreservedly and valued his opinions. With each mission his respect for the man had grown and he had believed him infallible. The entire team had infiltrated his defenses and become people he was terrified to fail like he had failed his sister. His brain conjured up the last few images of Top, practically suffocating as he failed to bring in air. He replayed the kitchen table surgery that McG had done in the middle of the field to get the man some relief and prayed that it would hold as they moved him.

He finally caught sight of the Mongolian village where they had started this journey. Letting out a relieved sigh he set about reconnecting his communications devices eager to make contact. First he reactivated his GPS, then fiddled with his audio comm. Adjusting it in his ear but frowning when he heard nothing. He played around with the device, switching channels before finally groaning and reinserting the battery the proper way. Dumbass. Now hearing the slight buzz of empty air he pressed down and broke the silence

"Command do you read?"


	5. Chapter 5

Patricia closed the file she was reading with more force than was necessary. She used the term "reading" loosely as she had started skimming it multiple times but had yet to make it past the first paragraph before losing focus. Her mind kept drifting off to the status of the team in Mongolia, or China or wherever they were right now. They were long overdue to check in and everyone was feeling the strain behind the scenes as they waited to hear word. The last information they had to go on was status was the intercepted sat phone call to China that had scrambled the Chinese Military. She had been relieved at the time. Trusting that Dalton had done it on purpose with an end game in mind. That had been over 8 hours ago. With their borrowed horses they should have been out of China and back into Mongolia hours ago if they had been successful and been able to get out undetected. By Noah's calculations even if they had trekked the entire distance back on foot they still should easily have been back in safe communications range by now.

She trusted the team implicitly. They had come through for her more times than she could count. But the deck had been very stacked against them on this one, racing the ruthless Russians who out manned them significantly and had a head start to boot. Then there was the matter of entering Chinese territory and having to go dark cut off from any additional Intel that could help. Her and the team had been relegated to the sidelines. An entire team of specialists, analysts, support staff all twiddling their thumbs unable to do what they were highly trained to do.

Not wanting to sit in her office with her thoughts anymore, she rose and ventured down the hallway back to the ops room. Hannah caught her gaze as she entered the room giving an immediate shake of her head to the unspoken question. No change. Of course there was no change. They would have called her immediately at the first sign of news. Logically she knew this but she still couldn't help the disappointment that crept in anyways. She took a seat at her station and surveyed the room. Normally a hive of movement and activity she saw a room full of operators who like her had given up on pretending to be busy and were showing various tells of their stress. Feet tapping, pens chewed, key chains fiddled all in an effort to work out some anxiety induced restlessness.

The doors hissed open and she saw Noah re-enter the room. His eyes went straight to Hannah and she gave him the same negative indication that she had greeted Patricia with. Noah grimaced and opened a bag of pork rinds, evidently returning from the vending machine. Patricia didn't even want to know what number he was on. She had caught Hannah teasing him hours earlier and that had been bag number 4… at this rate she was going to have to give him a raise to be able to keep up with his habit. She chuckled to herself but sobered quickly as her gaze returned to the dark screen showing disconnected communications.

She knew what she should be doing right now. But she couldn't bring herself to be doing it. She should be putting her staff to work on scenario planning. Best case scenario they were just delayed and only a little patience was needed. But there were so many other worst case scenarios possible. Had the team been overtaken by the Russians? By the Chinese? Were they captured? Killed in action? By rights her team should be investigating these avenues, preparing strategies, preparing briefs for her superiors, but it felt like giving up on the team to do that right now. She had meant it earlier when she said she would take Dalton 50 times out of 50 in a fair fight. Hell she would still give him pretty close to the same odds as the underdog too. That said she recognized that some things were beyond his control. Even with the best planning, best tactics, best soldiers carrying it out, sometimes things just went wrong. An accident could happen, a bullet flies where it's not supposed too. Things could go from a-ok to fubar in a matter of seconds. On a regular mission she could at least try to help if/when things went sideways, but this time the team was on its own with whatever they were dealing with.

Suddenly Hannah called out, all eyes in the room snapped up to the board, excited murmurs as one GPS marker popped back up on the screen. Al-Raisani was back on line. Hope flared in Patricia's chest - they were looked expectantly waiting to see 4 more signals … nothing. Moments passed. Still nothing. And just like that her jubilation abruptly became dread in the pit of her stomach. Silence stretched across the room everyone straining, barely daring to blink waiting for another marker to pop up. 5 had gone out. Surely… no. She wouldn't allow herself to go there yet. Noah called out - his comm is up.

Her ear piece was in her ear before she knew it waiting tensly.

"Command, do you read" - Amir's voice came through the line

"Loud and clear Amir, its good to hear from you, what's your status"

She settled for a neutral question not wanting to ask the obvious and trusting the former spy to report what was needed soon enough.

"Command we completed the mission objective but ran into some trouble on the way out. The rest of the team is about 1 hour behind me en route in. Dalton was wounded and is in severe medical distress. We need immediate exfil to my location."

Patrica sat down in her chair, legs weak with relief that the rest of the team was alive, albeit not completely whole, but she could work with that.

"Acknowledged Amir. Standby we will work on it on our end and get you an ETA on transport ASAP."

She turned to the team around her. Okay people you heard him we need a chopper there waiting in 45 minutes. I don't know where our nearest bird is to Mongolia and I don't care. Find one and get it there. Move heaven and earth to make it happen.

She ignored the once again familiar buzz of activity around her. Trusting her people to get it done. Their operators risked everything and gave all they had to get whatever mission they were tasked with done. She would pull whatever strings, pay whatever cost to get them the support they needed when things went sideways.

Noah was catching her attention. There was a possibility of re-routing a chopper from a CIA mission in Afghanistan. That cut the distance in half rather than calling out a new bird all the way from Turkey. The CIA owed her a favour or twelve after the whole Cassie Connors debacle she had bailed them out on.

"Do it" she responded, not caring what feathers would be ruffled by her hijacking the chopper. She would deal with that later.

"Amir, ETA for transport is approximately 30 mikes out. Please advise when you have contact from the rest of the team"

She was itching to ask Amir more about Dalton's status but in all reality there was no point. None of them could do anything at this point except count on him to keep fighting whatever was ailing him and get him aid as soon as possible.

Minutes passed in a whirl of activity. Her teams was happy to be busy and to have things to analyze, numbers to crunch and feeds to monitor. There was a small but somber celebration when the rest of the team came into view on edge of their limited aerial view. They could just make out the team moving over land nearing Amir's location on the outskirts of the village. McG and Preach appeared to be carrying Dalton using a blanket slung between them as a makeshift stretcher. Jaz led the pair with her gun at the ready surveying the area around them. They soon joined up with Amir and were just linking up their communications and GPS when Amir reported he could hear the chopper approaching.

"McG how is Dalton?" She caved unable to resist asking after seeing him carried in still and silent. Clearly he was unconscious since they hadn't bothered hooking up his comms but she wanted to know, needed to know how bad it really was.

"He's hanging in there. Chest tube is draining what it can so his O2 levels have stabilized a bit. BP is too low though. I can't do anything for the internal bleeding. He needs blood as fast as we can get it to him and none of us are a match to transfuse."

The medic's grim, weary tone was more revealing than the medical jargon and she grimaced unsure how to respond. Rarely rattled, she was saved by the arrival of the chopper and settled for "Keep me posted" as the team wasted no time loading their injured leader and taking off.

She rose from her chair. It would be a long wait as they flew out and then she imagined rushed him straight into surgery. She might as well make herself useful - she had updates to provide and that report from earlier had many more paragraphs after the first one that still needed to be read now that she could focus a bit better.

Turning to leave the room, her eyes automatically skimmed the board - seeing 4 active GPS and communication markers illuminated once again. One empty box at the top of the screen caught her attention, A1-DALTON still dark and disconnected. 50 out of 50, he had kept the metaphorical streak alive achieving the mission objective apparently at great cost to himself. She was counting on him to find a way to beat the odds on this one too.


	6. Chapter 6

Well I wasn't planning on getting a new chapter up tonight. But then I spent 3 hours on a bus trying to get home in horrendous traffic. So my pain is the story's gain I suppose. One chapter entirely written on a cellphone ;)

Jaz perched on the windowsill finding comfort in her vantage point to watch the slow mechanical rise of Dalton's chest.

Her teammates often teased the sniper that she set up overwatch no matter where was. And while it usually made her roll her eyes she couldn't deny that she wasn't one to sink into a chair or a couch in the middle of the room. No, she usually preferred to occupy a spot on the outskirts where she could see the entire room. Preferably with her feet up if she could swing it. Perhaps born from her training, perhaps just a personality quirk that she didn't like to be the center of attention, content to pipe in her two cents from the outskirts. This windowsill wasn't as comfortable as some of her favorite haunts in their home quarters but it would have to do for now.

She smirked as McG let out a not so soft snore from one of the chairs beside the bed. The man could sleep pretty much anywhere, anytime, but she suspected he was still catching up from their exhausting mission. He had worked feverishly over the last few days to keep Dalton alive when things had gone to shit on their mission. Performing surgery in the middle of a field, intubating him mid-air when his lungs had begun to fail outright, and doing CPR for the last few terrifying minutes of their flight before finally relinquishing care to the emergency medical staff when they landed.

She shuddered slightly, mind replaying some of the scenes from Mongolia. The bright colours on Adam's bruised and battered chest, his wheezing breaths as he hiked, and then the fear in his expressive eyes when he couldn't breath. Jaz couldn't recall a time before where she had ever seen him scared and she still found it deeply unsettling. His skin had been so white it was practically translucent and so, so silent as they carried him the last couple miles never so much as twitching. His body staying limp and unresponsive even as McG and Preach had taken turns hammering on his already broken chest trying to keep blood flowing when his organs had started shutting down.

She couldn't bring herself to take the other chair next to Joe. To sit another bedside vigil. She had done that less than a year ago for Elijah. Sat there for days waiting for good news that never came. Talking to him, praying for him to open his eyes. She was not going to repeat that. Top was going to be fine, it was Top. He didn't need her to sit there and hold his hand. He was going to beat this. He had to beat this.

She was mad at him. Mad that he had shattered her illusion that he was indestructible. He wasn't allowed to go and abandon the team, abandon her. As their leader he inspired them, always believing in their ability more than they did. He was the calm in the storm of a mission. There was never a doubt that he would figure out what to do in any situation. He also kept them cohesive, bringing out the best each person had to offer. When needed he could shut down any crap with a simple calm statement and a raised eyebrow rather than a raised voice. She found it highly ironic that he could keep 4 passionate and headstrong operators obedient to his every word when he couldn't even get his own dog to lie down on command. The thought of Patton made her mad again. She was not going to deal with a depressed adopted dog , damnit Top you are not allowed to skip out on us.

She wasn't sure what the irrational anger she was feeling towards her teammate said about her personality. She supposed it was probably easier to be mad then deal with the other emotions she had pushed aside in order to get the mission done. They were now lurking threatening to overwhelm her if she let them so it was easier just to stay mad. Who knew, apparently she did occasionally pay attention to what the shrinks went on about in the team mandated debriefs. She had them down to an art now, smiling when needed, sharing superficial information as required and presenting the textbook answers to get the magic "all clear" she needed to continue on with her job.

Her eyes refocused on Dalton. Taking reassurance in the noises of the machines. Normally a cause for concern they were a welcome sight at this point. There were moments on the mission where she hadn't thought they would even make it to this point. Then the doctors hadn't thought he couldn't possibly survive the surgery to repair the internal bleeding. But he had. After that they moved on to warning about the first 24 hours, unsure if his body could handle the strain that had been placed on it. But he did. And here they were now, 36 hours later and struggling to find a sense of patience. Patience certainly wasn't her strong suit. Top had recently told her that sometimes the only thing to do was just to wait. It was certainly true, but it had sucked then and it still sucked now.

An alarm sounded and she was off the ledge on her feet in an instant. Eyes searching the foreign machinery connected to Dalton for signs of distress. They had been warned that there were all sorts of things that could still go wrong.. a missed bleeder, organ failure, infection, but she had dared to hope they were past the worst.

McG had jolted awake and was just starting to examine the patient when the doctors hurried in the door. McG moved aside and beckoned that they should leave the doctors to it. She glared at him stepping back against the wall steadfastly refusing to exit. He shot her an exasperated look before coming to join her in the corner and putting his arm around her shoulders. She leaned into the comfort wondering just how much more Top could endure.

After several minutes of fiddling with machines and checking vitals one of the doctors turned and studied Jaz. Apparently recognizing that she was near the end of her rope the doctor tried for a reassuring smile and said "It's a good thing honey, he is starting to fight the intubation. Means he's getting stronger."

Jaz suppressed her annoyance at being called honey, letting it go in the face of actual good news for the first time in days. The relief overwhelmed her and she felt something wet slide down her cheek. She wiped it away quickly, surprised. She didn't think anyone on the team had ever seen her cry before. If McG noticed he didn't let on, and worst case scenario she had some leverage on him she could use to shut him up about it later. She settled in to wait with a renewed sense of hope. Sometimes all you could do was wait.


	7. Chapter 7

Dalton acknowledged the warm greeting from the guards with a wave as he waited for the gates to open. Shifting his bag with only a slight twinge in his side he entered the base with a smile.

He studied the metal structure they used as a home base. It wasn't much to look at but right now it was a sight for sore eyes right now. His view swept the front area seeing various service men out enjoying the more palatable Turkish heat at this time of the day. He gave them a friendly nod but not seeing any of his team, continued on towards the bunker entrance.

It felt like forever since he had seen them. They had checked in on him regularly but it wasn't the same as going out on multi-day missions together and hanging around shooting the shit in their down time. He vaguely remembered interacting with them through a few layers of drugs when he had first woken up. He could recall seeing their faces and being comforted that they were safe, but realistically most of the first few days had been a blur of opiates and sleep. Somewhere in there he had been transferred back stateside and it was only in the hospital in DC a few days later and a few doses lower that he had really felt awake.

It had been a long 6 weeks. Unbelievably, unbearably, unendingly ...long.

After the first week he was already going stir crazy, itching to get back to his normal activities. Unfortunately his body was not quite as ready as he was. He had detested being weak, being unable to sit up without help, absolutely exhausted after walking a few wheezing steps.

2-3 months they had said. Well, he had done it in half that, obsessively working on his rehab to the great exasperation of his team of therapists. Physio, OT, respiratory therapy he had seen them all and done it all. In fact, if he had been asked to blow into that stupid tube making that stupid ball raise one more time he might have lost it and just shot the damn thing. Maybe his therapists had gotten that sense too, finally wearing down and agreeing to release him for light duty back with the team.

He still had a few more weeks before he would be ready to go out on a mission. The wounds and broken bones had healed quick enough but the loss of strength would take awhile to rebuild. Thankfully, this was as good a place as any to do that and at least here he could help coordinate from the base, feel a part of the missions in some manner. The worst thing for him had been feeling disconnected from what the team was doing. He trusted Preach to lead the team, but it still had killed him to know they were going out without him that if they got into trouble he couldn't be there to help them. Time off was greatly overrated as far as he was concerned.

He opened the door to the bunker, expecting to see some signs of life and was not disappointed. He was nearly bowled over by a leaping black and brown ball of fur, catching the wriggling excited dog with a grunt. He wrestled with the dog for a few more seconds finally telling Patton to sit. Patton ignored him and continued practically scaling him in an effort to lick his face. Pushing the dog off he laughed. Some things never changed.

Straightening up he threw his bag on the couch. He called out, receiving no response and began to wonder if the team had been called away on a mission. The DIA hadn't mentioned it when they were preparing the logistics for his return but something could have come up last minute. Although the room didn't give the impression that people had left in a hurry. The makeshift kitchen was clear and all the dishes were drying in the rack. The gear racks seemed fully stocked with no vital pieces missing that would indicate the team had gone out. They had to be around somewhere.

Patton was whining and scratching at the door that led out to the back area. He opened the door for the dog, wondering briefly if the regs would let him put in a dog door. Probably pushing it a bit. They already turned a blind eye to the fact that the mutt had taken up permanent residence with the team Structural modifications might take it past the threshold they could pretend not to see. He followed the dog outside, squinting as his eyes re-adjusted to the bright sunlight. He surveyed the yard in front of him smiling at the familiar landscape beyond the fences.

A loud chorus distracted him….."Top!" and he turned towards the picnic area to find his entire team waiting for him with beers raised to his return. He grinned and tension he didn't know he was carrying seemed to melt away as he headed towards them. He grabbed the beer that Preach handed him and observed the set up. It looks like they were cooking up quite a feast. McG traveled back to the barbecue evidently in charge of what lay within. He groaned, "if you guys were going to cook me something to celebrate you could have at least let Amir do it" McG shot him a fake wounded look while everyone else chuckled, effectively breaking the ice and restarting the conversation. Dalton sat back in his chair happily listening to them complain and blame each other for the the different meals that had been butchered recently.

He must be a bit rusty because he was startled when McG placed a plate full of food in front of him, not having heard the man coming. "Here Top, we cooked up something special for the guest of honor."

Dalton looked in confusion at the pyramid of barbecued corn on the cob in front of him. What was he missing here? He had expected burgers, hoped for a steak...but certainly wasn't anticipating an entire plateful of corn.

Glancing around he saw faces that were working suspiciously hard to remain blank. McG continued on in a serious tone, but was unable to fully contain his amused smirk "we took a vote and decided a change in diet was in order for you to help ensure we don't ever have a repeat of the Mongolia mission"

It clicked into place suddenly and Dalton erupted in laughter. His own words from the field coming back to him now "Almost got my ass whupped, guy was a corn fed son of a bitch." The team too lost their composure and joined in, echoing his amusement. His ribs quickly reminded him that they were still not quite up to prolonged bouts of laughter but he resolutely ignored them, utterly content to be back sharing this light-hearted moment with his friends.

Damn it was good to be home.

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Thanks to everyone who went on this journey with me. It was crazy to see how many people were reading along. I have enjoyed reading fanfics for a while but this is the first time I dabbled in writing one. Just couldn't get this story out of my head and here we are a few thousand words later. Here's hoping Jan 8th comes soon!


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